Leave it to the urban chic of NPR to ask, Rocky Mountain oysters are what?

They’re skinned, sliced, battered, deep-fried bull testicle into a cup of cocktail sauce.

Protein comes in many forms, in many climates.

Get over it.

After slicing, dicing, breading and deep-frying, Guffy brings out the basket with a side of cocktail sauce. It’s a sampler: bison, lamb and beef oysters.

I go with the more exotic bison oyster as my first taste.

There’s no good way to say this: They were surprisingly juicy. And I know this is cliche, but the bison tasted like chicken. The lamb was similar in taste and texture. But the beef were in a league all their own, chewy and meaty and full of a unique flavor somewhere between liver and gizzard.

After trying one of each, my stomach settles a bit. Assimilating to a new place isn’t an overnight transition. It takes months, years to fully embrace customs and traditions that the people who live in a place take for granted, or roll their eyes at.

After a day at Bruce’s, I feel like I’m more of a Coloradan than I was before.

I ask Guffy if he has any parting words.

“Other than just, come to Bruce’s and have a ball. What else can I say?”